


Dinner Party

by Whispering_Imp



Series: Sex Games [2]
Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Anal Play, F/M, I like surprises, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, RPF, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 01:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1586078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whispering_Imp/pseuds/Whispering_Imp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom asked you to be ready to go to Benedict Cumberbatch's place for dinner when he checks up on you. Being home late, you need to rush to comply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner Party

Standing in front of the full-length mirror in the walk-in closet, you are in a hurry to dress for dinner. Having come home late after a delay on the road, you are left with little time to get ready. Benedict Cumberbatch has invited Tom to bring you over to his place. Tom said you need at least 30 minutes to get to Benedict’s on time. Tom also said he will check up on you as soon as he himself is dressed. He expects you to be ready by then.

Determined not to fail his request, you tear away your casual clothing, scattering them on the ground carelessly. You will pick them up later. Looking around, you find that Tom had thoughtfully laid out his choice of your evening attire -- including undergarments -- for you: A short, sleeveless dress, matching heels, a white corset, and a pair of hook-on stockings complete with a white lace garter belt. There is no pantie. A strange choice for a private dinner indeed, but you hardly spare a second to wonder what Tom had planned for the night. With Tom, you just let him do whatever he wishes. You know he acts in both your interests. Besides, he has the knack of getting you things you don’t even know you want.

The lacy strings of the corset are a more immediate problem.

You turn at awkward angles to tighten the strings. Seeing your curves in the mirror, highlighted by the sexy attire, turns you on. Were you not in such hurry, you’d stop to admire yourself. As it is, there are still the stockings. You put on the garter belt and got one stocking on without mayhem. But as you are bending over to roll up the other one, you feel movement behind you. It’s Tom. You hear his muffled footsteps approaching. _What a view he must have from that angle!_ The thought makes you blush. Even so, you resist the urge to cover yourself and instead try to concentrate on rolling up the stocking as quickly as possible without tearing it.

“Tut. Tut. Taking all the time in the world are we?”

His tone was playful rather than angry or annoyed. Tom rarely loses his temper, and definitely not over such trivial things. All the same, you are sorry for failing what he asked of you and want very much to straighten up and apologize, but the stocking refuses to cooperate as you try to tug it up further. Desperation and frustration is making the task seem even more difficult.

“Don’t stress yourself out sweetheart. Relax. It’s not as if I’m going to punish you for anything.” Tom pauses so that last remark can take full effect. When he opens his mouth again, his voice is huskier, masked with the cruelty and malice that belongs to Loki. “Or maybe I should.”

Almost immediately, however, he breaks character and starts to chuckle. Giving threats really isn’t his cup of tea. A few moments of evil dominance is quite enough to content him. Laughing at himself, Tom comes over and nudges your shoulder, asking you to abandon your task. Resigned, you stand still and let him roll up your stockings and fasten them to the garter belt for you. He has dropped to his knees in front of you. You cannot help running your fingers through those golden curls. Tom smiles at the contact without looking at you. He kisses you lightly near the inner part of your thighs. A tight twist in your groin make you gasp. The room is suddenly too hot. The close proximity makes you embarrassingly aroused. You try to refrain from pressing your legs together or shuffling your feet, but of course Tom noticed.

“Well, well, looks like someone needs a quick shag,” he says, lips curling up mischievously as he leaned closer between your legs and breaths in your scent. His tongue darts out and gives a quick flick over your clitoris. “In fact--” one of his hands comes up to cup your bottom, his fingers teasing the rim of your anus, the one virgin entrance. “-- I think I want this sooner rather than later.”

“But… but Tom! What about dinner, and Benedict… Oh!”

Tom has run a finger over your wetness, rendering you speechless. That finger now trails backwards, rubbing moisture all over. It stops at the back, massaging the muscles there.

“What’s that? Dinner? I’m sure Ben will understand,” Tom says and pushes a finger into you. You are tight, and the intrusion feels foreign: Slightly painful, but at the same time _extremely_ arousing. You shudder. Tom acts as if nothing’s amiss and continues to talk. “I should text him, though. Or do you prefer I ring him so that he can listen while you scream my name in oblivion? Anyhow” \--His hands leave you abruptly, headless of your little protests. He stands up.--“I need my phone. Come.”

He knows you are incapable of answering properly in your present state, and wasted no time waiting for a reaction. With strong hands supporting your behind, Tom lifts you up. Instinctively, your arms reach up to hug his neck and your legs cross behind him, resting at the small of his back. You can feel his hardness between your legs. _If only he wasn’t wearing so much!_

Without so much as an effort, Tom carries you to the master bedroom and sits down on the bed with you still in his lap, beside where his phone is. Boldly, without waiting for permission like you should have, you set to work unbuckling his trousers. Tom lifts an eyebrow, but chooses to let it pass as he busies himself sending text messages to his pal. Desperate, you work efficiently and have freed him in a matter of seconds. You are about to wrap your fingers around him when he stops you with one hand.

“You will regret that,” he says as he puts the phone down. He takes your hands and guide them back to wind around his neck again. “Your behavior is getting out of hand. Don’t make me remind you who’s boss.”

Very briefly, Tom’s eyes shifts behind you to where the long French sofa is. It’s a habit of his whenever he decides to have you at this side of the bed. You suppose, being a stage actor by nature, he always think about performances. Even in the act of lovemaking, he couldn’t resist thinking the bed a stage and the bedroom a theatre. Sometimes you wonder if Tom secretly wants an audience when he takes you. Sometimes you want to follow his gaze (it’s human instinct, after all.) and see what he is looking at, but of course there never was anything but the fancy furniture. Tonight, you don’t get to move a muscle even if you wanted to. Tom has already fisted a handful of your hair roughly and has pulled your bodies together tightly. He is always most ungentle when you misbehave. Well, you are not particularly sorry for that. But you knew better than to trade over the line too much or too often. You are a good girl, and being bad is no way to love your man.

Tom’s lips crush into yours. Before you can react, he forces his tongue past your lips. He is taking full control tonight. Aggressively, his other hand moves back to your behind. Making sure to slick his fingers by running them up and down your wetness first, he pushes a finger up your behind once more. The stretch doesn’t burn as much as the first time, but still it's uncomfortable, in an exciting way. Without meaning to, you try to squirm, but Tom’s hold both at the back of your head and on your behind remain firm.

He curls his fingers, loosening you just a little bit. At least, that’s what it feels like. His mouth is still on yours, and your breath is starting to come short. You feel light-headed, both from arousal and from lack of oxygen. You have closed your eyes. It’s difficult to keep them open, however much you want to look at Tom’s angelic face. When you try to pull away for breath, he took your bottom lip between his teeth, demanding that you stay right where you are. At the same time, Tom got another finger into you. He is slow, but again the burn has you gasping.

For some time, (Second? Minutes? You cannot tell.) he simply pumps in and out of the entrance, trying to get you to accommodate the strange action and what is to come. He allows you to catch your breath for a second before holding you close to the crook of his neck. Your head fitted the space perfectly, and you moan and sigh contently. Tom’s natural scent mixed with expensive cologne fills your nostrils, claiming your senses. Just as you relax into all this, Tom scissors his fingers inside you. Tears come to your eyes as the burn returns anew. But you remain silent. Tom knows what he’s doing. The pain isn’t half as much as the pleasure that is pushing you forward. At this rate, you don’t know whether you can last out before he takes you proper.

Tom lets go of your hair and uses that hand to lift you up slightly so he can slide his shaft, neglected for so long, into your wetness. He doesn’t even have to search to find the spot. Pleasure shot through you, drowning out all unpleasantness in your behind. You moaned into his shirt shamelessly.

“Careful now, daring,” Tom says. “I’m adding a third finger. You’ll need it. Try to relax and focus on the good things instead of the pain. Can you do that for me?”

You don’t know if you’ve nodded in response. You cling to him as he slowly lay down on the bed, allowing you to straddle him from above. Your hair drifts around the two of you like a curtain. And you hold on to him for dear life as another finger penetrates you. He pauses from time to time to let you adjust. He rocks his hips, hitting your pressure point in sync with his hand movements to distract you from discomfort.

With each passing second, the strangeness and pain subsides. Until at last, your tears stopped, and you want to push back at Tom, searching for friction. Feeling your reactions changing, Tom pulls his fingers out of you and gives you a little pat on bum. It’s a reward for being a brave good girl.

“Are you ready?” He asks.

You push yourself up a little so you can look into his beautiful blue eyes and give him the affirmative. But Tom isn’t looking at you. His eyes are fixed at a spot over your shoulder, and he is smiling.

“Obviously. I can barely stand the torture.” A low voice growled behind you. “God, you’ve taken your time.”

Large hands grab hold your waist, soft and warm. Surprised as well as curious, you craned your neck to see the man standing over Tom and yourself. Benedict Cumberbatch, smartly dressed in suit and tie, smiles down at you with humor as well as adoration. Lines crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

“Hello sweetheart. Do allow me the honor?”

“The honor is all mine, sir.”

With that Benedict sinks himself into you, claiming you. He is larger than Tom’s preparation can ever make you be ready for. You hide your face in Tom’s chest. Gasping. Moaning. Squirming. You are so full. Having both men inside of you is overwhelming.

Tom, or Benedict, rocks you lightly, and the slow rhythm started. In. Out. In. Out. And you go, “oh, oh, _oh!_ ” at every thrust.

“Yes baby, that’s it my good girl.”

“Oh god!”

“I got you.”

“God!”

“Yes, yes!”

“Fuck!”

Their masculine voices surround you. They carry you further and further from consciousness. All your senses got mixed up. You don’t know which way is up, which way is down. All you know is there is Tom, there is Benedict, and there is your body. You climb, and climb, in no particular direction. All of a sudden, you feel the ground (the sky?) give way to nothingness, and you topple. You fell upwards. You drift. Your screams fill the room, searching for Tom and then for Benedict. And they hold you. They keep you safe as bright light blinds you.

You open your eyes, the light is too intense. They sting. Your eyelids flutter close again. Reaching out with your hands, you find them shaking. You feel weak and curl into yourself. A blanket is dropped over you. You clutch it to your chest in one hand gratefully. Your other hand still roams around in front of you, not finding what you are seeking.

A hand covers yours, pulling it back to your body. You feel the heat as someone hugs you from behind, covering you, giving you warmth. “Shh, honey. Tom will be back as soon as he tends to his arms and shoulder.” A voice whispers in your ear.

Despite the comfort making you drowsy again, you started. “Tom? What happened to Tom?” You forces your eyes open to search for your man. You want to sit up, but your head is still unclear. You may have been trying to push into the mattress for all you know.

“Nothing to worry about dear,” Tom’s voice reaches you before you found its owner. He walks out of the bathroom. He is shirtless from the waist up. You stared. There is a plaster on his right shoulder close to his neck and several angry red bruises on his right arm.  The man sits down and lifts you from Benedict’s arms. He kisses you lightly on the lips. “I got some battle marks from my wild little tigress, that’s all.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

Tom kisses you again. “Don’t be. It’s nothing.”

“Except you got much to explain to your makeup artists,” Benedict puts in with a low chuckle. He has his hands behind his head, casually observing the two of you. “Dinner, you two? It’s getting late.”

“Shut up Ben. Don’t listen to him daring. Get dressed. We’ve taken long enough.” Laughing uncontrollably, Tom hands you your dress, which he has taken out of the walk-in closet when you were out cold from your high.

“Don’t forget your phone,” Benedict says after sitting up. He fishes the phone from under the bed. “Honestly, with all this roughness, you shouldn’t have it anywhere near your bed at all.”

“I don’t usually. I was texting you today.”

Tom takes the phone, and, out of habit, turns on the screen to check it. You have a glimpse of the screen. It is still on the message scene before Tom closed the app.

**Come on up. Party’s starting.**

**Author's Note:**

> I am so excited what was meant to be a one-shot only has evolved into a series. It is all thanks to all the encouragement and amazing responses to _Something Special_. Thank you everyone! I hope I still live up to your expectations.


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